Vice
by Tricks
Summary: She has been holding on for so long; but sometimes in life, the way to freedom is to let go. He wants to show her that.
1. No Prince Charming

Disclaimer: Er, I don't own Kingdom Hearts or any product of Square Enix; I do, however, have rights on this fic... not that it means anything.

A/N: I've been itching to make this pairing fic for a little while. I finally gave in, having nothing that I really wanted to do (productive procrastination on school) for the day, and wrote up some stuff for this. Wasn't sure what I had in mind for this, just knew that I wanted to write a pairing for this couple, so I went ahead and just wrote. :D It was fairly rewarding.

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"Seifer! Seifer! Take a picture with me?"

"Butt out, you whore. He'll take his picture with me."

"Who says either of _you_ get to take your picture with him?"

"I think that _I_ get to take my picture with him!"

She had passed by them every day, head low and books cradled close to her pounding chest. Like many of the other girls, she was rather fond of the head of Twilight Town's "disciplinary committee," as it had been put a few years ago – and she despised herself for it. She wasn't exactly like the other girls. She was the one with her face always in the books now, always working an extra job or two in whatever time she had to spare, always home if not at school or work. She was the one who had never had a boyfriend, the one who didn't live with her parents, and the one that was too "stuck up" for her own good. She was the one who had strange dreams about a world that never was, the one sometimes came across what was nothing more than hallucinations, the one who had no friends anymore because of it.

Hayner and Pence (and perhaps one other boy, but she couldn't remember his name) had moved on long ago. After graduating from high school, Hayner had gone off into the wars that had managed to persist. That had been four years ago, and she hadn't heard from him since. Every now and then she would go through her phone and look at the list, gazing long at names of old friends. Pence, on the other hand, was an entirely different story. No decisions of bravery or heroism for Pence; no, the short young man chose instead to become an artist. Occasionally she would receive a package in the mail from him; out would come pictures, sketches, and occasionally even the start of a novel he never finished. These were things she kept neatly organized but hidden out of sight in her closet. They were hers – her memories – and no one else's, and so she decided no one else ever deserved to see them; but she had no memories of her own to give. She felt like she had no life to show.

Today they were graduating college. Every other student besides her seemed to be barreling their way through crowds for someone they knew to take a picture. They all had found someone, friend or lover; they all had a brilliant speech to make, it seemed; they all had somewhere to go after the ceremony. For the exception of her name being called, she had seated herself on a lone bench underneath a similarly lonely tree. Inspired by a recent sketch sent to her from Pence, she had purchased a pad and began doodling on it herself. None of her drawings were as creative or as professional as her friend's, she knew, but she considered them alright for someone who had little, if any, experience in the artistic department.

As the crowds began to disperse, she curled her legs underneath her and attempted to become more comfortable. The graduation gown was nothing short of suffocating and irritating on the skin, but she could handle it. Her concentration was elsewhere. Her fingers gripped the mechanical pencil as her wrist made calculated movements to sketch what she saw. Not far off from her, nestled in a patch of flowers, was a bird. It was nothing spectacular to look at, but she found that she often was appreciating nature more than others whom she knew.

The finishing touches were coming along nicely until her subject uttered a cry of distress, its wings fluttered, and it flew away. Its small and plump body had been replaced by several shadows.

"Seifer! Where you going, man?"

"I need to grab my junk out of the building; left it there. Forgot about it for some reason. I'll catch you guys at the club later! My car's out back!"

"Peace!"

The short conversation caused her to grip her pencil so tightly that her hand began to tremble. She wasn't quite satisfied with her drawing but she could finish the piece at home. It was her best yet, and she was excited to send something back to Pence for once; but now all her mind could think on was the man of envy and adoration that was strolling in her direction. Instantly she was filled with a strong desire to evacuate the area. With dismay, she realized there was no one around for her to call out to pick up a ride home. As Seifer's friends drove off in a sleek red car, the fading rumble left her the realization that she had sat here again, alone, until everyone else had left. The brunette exhaled softly, removing her hat and gathering it up with her books and pencil. It was time to go to her apartment. Seeing as she had no ride, she'd have to walk.

Her feet protested as she slid onto them and her gown caught around her ankles. She stumbled more unceremoniously and out of reflex her hand shot out to grab onto something to help her balance. She expected nothing to be there. The ceremony had taken place in a lawn with benches, and the nearest seating area was a few feet away; she would fall on her face and would just have to pick herself up and move on. Chance defied her logic as her fingers curled into another gown passing by. The weight of her fall caused the fabric to rip loudly, but her grip hadn't saved her in the least from landing on the ground. Her possessions scattered helplessly to into the grass as she slid face first downwards, her legs scraping painfully against the metal plank of the bench.

She had always hated being like other girls. She didn't want to be seen as weak or useless; she could hold her own! Remembering this, she scrambled to her hands and knees and began to retrieve her books.

"I'm sorry," she chanted in apology, eyes kept fixated on the ground. She knew who she had bumped into; she didn't want attention and she definitely didn't want trouble.

"Your robe, I can pay for it if you want, it's not a big deal; it was an accident and I wasn't paying attention to my feet –"

"It's fine."

A hand entered her line of vision and she became aware that he was handing her the pad. She felt a heat rush to her cheeks, concern about his opinion of her sketch rampant in her mind. Hesitantly, and extremely careful to avoid actual physical contact, she took the sketchpad back and added it to her growing stack of belongings. She slipped it underneath another book so that the image was hidden from sight.

"You're that girl who sits by herself a lot, huh?"

That much seemed obvious, she thought to herself, reluctant to rise to her feet although she had finally collected everything. She simply nodded, wishing for this person to leave her alone so she could begin her walk home.

"I remember you. You were with that little punk back way back when, when I was still in charge of the Disciplinary Committee. You're name's Olla or something, isn't it?"

"Olette," she corrected politely, finding a strange sensation of pleasure flutter inside of her. She was remembered by someone. It meant a lot to her. Lately she was a nobody that spent time with absolutely nobody. She was a laughing discussion for all of the girls and not even on the radar for most of the boys. To have one of the most popular boys in their now graduated group of classes recognize her, especially from years past, was something significant. The brunette then realized that she didn't want his attention like all the other girls did. She could live life without him. She rose to her feet, noting that he mimicked the movement with her, and regained her composure.

"If you'll excuse me, I have to get home."

"I don't see a car. You waiting for a ride?"

"You could say that."

A sinking feeling gathered in her stomach and she realized he wasn't going to let her go so easily. Why was he giving her attention? Why was he talking to her when she shunned all the others? There were plenty of more attractive girls that were fighting for his affection; she wasn't one of them and she didn't need this. He didn't need to butt into her life!

"Why don't I give you a ride?"

"_Seifer_, isn't it? I think I will manage on my own just fine; I've done well enough throughout every single other day of college doing that, and this last day should be no different," she huffed. She didn't want his attention, she didn't need it, and she reminded herself of that repeatedly now. No matter how her younger heart had yearned for it, she wasn't a child anymore. She was a college graduate who needed a life.

Her legs protested and she knew very well she had probably scraped the skin away from her fall, but she had to get away from him. Olette forced herself into movement, careful not to trip over her gown again, and began to stalk towards the street that she knew was not that far off. It was only a little distance down the small slope she was on, and then she could make her way home. He wasn't going to follow her, he was better than that. Seifer Almasy didn't go after girls, they went after him. It was fine.

True to her reasoning so far, he had said nothing and as she glanced back some distance down the little hill, she saw no one there. He must have gone to get his things and go like everyone else, she thought. Why did that bother her? She would have liked it if someone, even him, had gone after her; it would have shown the concern from someone else that she was lacking. Several minutes down the road, she glanced back after her again to see the same thing as before. There was no one there. There were no cars, no people, not even a Gummi ship in the sky. She had read stories where sometimes the man would drive up and offer the lady a ride home. It didn't happen. She walked home in disappointed silence.


	2. Cauterwauling Catastrophe

Disclaimer: I don't own Kingdom Hearts or any other Square Enix creation or product. Any similarities are purely coincidental – well, you might find some similarities since this is a fanfiction.

A/N: I wasn't sure how to go about this chapter. I was toying with several various scenarios and I'm not even really pleased with the ending; but, I wanted to submit another chapter while I had this in mind or else it'd never get put up. So, here it is.

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The walk home had been brutal and she had nothing worthwhile to greet her at home. She had no messages left on her phone from the friends she didn't have anymore, no mail to look at, and not even a pet happy to see her when she opened the door. Feeling ultimately frustrated with the entirety of her life, she shut the door and flung her keys angrily onto a nearby seat. She couldn't stand this anymore; she had to do _something_ with her life. Her home, her heart, and her world were so empty. Where were all her friends now that she felt that she needed them the most?

Her eyes roamed listlessly about her apartment, taking in what little there was. There was a small makeshift coffee table composed of an upturned cardboard box; it sat carelessly in the center of her living room. Across from it was the beige couch that, while it was sold to her under the claim that it would roll out into a bed, all it could do was seat two people and make her angry. To the right of her was a wooden island that was supposed to serve as a counter; on the opposite side of her she knew it carried the dishes and spices that she had, and on the top of it was two ranges that supposedly made the stove. The rest of the kitchen was still unfinished for the exception of a rather gruesome looking sink; she often made trips to the bathroom instead.

There was absolutely no way that she would even consider allowing any one to her house like this. It was a dump, a mess, and a poor reflection on her as a person. She was better than this, she told herself halfheartedly – but if that was really true, then why was she working two jobs, miserable, and all alone? She dumped her books onto the counter and slumped to the floor with a little sob. This wasn't fair. Where she was now in life had trapped her in its horrible grasp and there was nowhere to go and no one to help her. Hayner and Pence were all busy and doing things she didn't understand and really didn't care for – but at least they were successful, her mind told her. She despised the truth of it, but a thought brought her some comfort.

She had Pence's number, and he usually picked up if she called (however rarely that happened to be lately.) She could tell him about the sketch; he'd be excited about it and talk to her! With a little effort the brunette pulled her phone from the pocket of her overflowing gown, and dialed her friend's number quickly. She became disconcerted when the phone continued to ring, a wave of relief sweeping over her when she heard the artist's voice pick up on the other end.

"Charming Sunrise, this is Pence speaking."

"Pence? It's Olette." She tried wiping her nose clean with the back of her hand, unwilling that her friend should sense anything was wrong. She was relatively successful and he didn't mention it if he noticed anything.

"Olette! Good to hear from you! What's up?"

"Remember the cardinal trio picture that you'd mailed me a couple weeks ago?"

"Yeah, I do; that one became pretty popular, and people wanted me to auction off the original, but I told them it had gone someplace special." There was a relaxing chuckle on the other end that she found comforting. It was good to talk to someone.

"Well, you've got me into drawing birds. I've got two so far, and one is almost finished. Would you mind if I sent them over so you can criticize the lack of skill in this grasshopper?" They both laughed at that.

"Sure, no problem! Looking forward to it! Nothing else new?"

For a moment she paused. She wanted to mention Seifer for some reason, but forced the image of the male she had decided to reject from her head.

"I just got home from the graduation ceremony for college, remember?" She prodded on the subject gently, knowing he had better things to do than keep up to date on her schedule.

"Yeah, I remember; I forgot it was _today_, though. How'd it go? Any moving speeches?"

"I wasn't really paying attention; just took my diploma and left. It gave me time to get some of the finishing touches on my sketches done, though!"

"Well, at least you accomplished something," he joked. "Hey, I've got an interview coming up in a minute. Want to talk later?" She felt a frown fall onto her face.

"Sure, no problem; I'll just finish up some stuff around the house," she lied, her voice holding some pep to it that she didn't think she actually had.

"Alright, talk to you later! Peace, Olette!"

She stared at the _"Call Ended"_ message on her phone and sighed. There was nothing to do around the house and she had nowhere to go. Her life was boring and it was dragging her down. She already worked two jobs, though; maybe she should look for somewhere better to work? A glance at her phone told her that it was still early in the afternoon at barely ten past four. Even with the thought of a better environment, she couldn't bring herself to go out.

Dropping her phone onto the floor (the only nice thing in her apartment that served its purpose,) she made her way to the bedroom. It was as empty as the preceding rooms, but it was a bit homier here. Red and white checkered curtains billowed slightly as if to wave to her. Underneath that window (the broken window, she noticed for the first time today) was her bed which consisted of a blanket on the floor as her mattress, a pillow, and a blanket on top of that. To the right there was a closet where the doors were partially fallen from their hinges. She admitted to herself there was nothing homey about this room and began to undress. It didn't matter to her what she would wear as she was not going anywhere.

Completely careless of her dress conditions now, she selected a pastel yellow pair of pajama pants with blue stars printed on it; and, alone, she decided that her blue bra was suitable enough to match her pajamas. There was no one here to see, anyways. Satisfied with her wardrobe, she slipped on the pants and shuffled drearily towards her kitchen. There was nothing there but a box of cereal to eat. Tomorrow on the way home from work, she would have to go shopping; for now, cereal would do.

She poured herself a bowl of Apple Jacks and ate the cereal bits at a time with her hand. There was no point in using a spoon; she was in no hurry and she had no milk. She reached over and pulled her sketchpad from the stack of books. The plump face of the bird stared back at her curiously but she thought it looked too lifeless to be realistic. Pence had always captured the life in someone's eyes, something she couldn't seem to manage with even something as small as a bird. Her hands curled into tight fists at the thought of how she had failed at something yet again.

Before she was able to turn to her cereal and get her first bite in, a knock at the door startled her.

"Hold on," she hollered, raising herself from the wobbly stool with care. She had no intent of rushing back into her bedroom to dress; no, whoever was at her door couldn't be important and didn't deserve her concern. She made her way slowly to the door, retrieving her phone from the floor along the way, and grimaced as she remembered there was no eyehole to see who it was. She cracked opened the door enough so she could see who it was and felt horror sink into the pit of her stomach. It was Seifer.

"What do you want here?" She demanded, trying to reason how he had managed to locate her apartment.

"Wanted to talk if that's alright. I can talk out here or in there, but I'm going to talk."

It made her sick to think that he assumed he was going to get what he wanted. The uncomfortable feeling in her gut vanished as it was quickly replaced by a consuming fire. She wanted to swing open the door and punch his face off!

"I don't _care_ what you want; you can talk to my door for all I care," she spat venomously, tugging the door shut with as much force as she could muster.

"Have it your way," she heard his muffled cry on the opposite side of the door. She agreed to herself that she would. On her way back to her early dinner, she heard him begin to croon and merely shook her head. If he was going to be stubborn, that was fine; two could play at that game. She seated herself on the stool again and was about to take another bite as she began to hear something that she never thought would be happening to her life.

"Baby would you just open the door? I didn't mean anything! It wasn't what you thought! If you'd let me inside I'll explain everything and we can make up! I miss you! You're better than that other slut! Come on!"

Her teeth grit together as the most extreme frustration filled her. She felt violated. She was going to have to concede defeat not because she cared about his caterwauling, but because if the landlord received a call (which undoubtedly was taking place at this moment), she'd be kicked out for being the cause of a disturbance. Slamming her palms down on the surface of the stove and counter, she stood up so suddenly from the stool that the poor thing fell over. Her feet stomped angrily against the floor as she made her way back to the door and she ripped the door open with as much strength as she had shut it.

Her expression that had been red with fury darkened further, if possible.

"You will shut up and either come in my house to talk, or you will leave. You'll get me kicked out!" She hissed, her free arm making wild and hysteric gestures. "I don't need this kind of trouble from you!"

The blond only whistled in response.

"I didn't think you'd warm up to me that easily," he laughed, arms crossed in a stance of triumph. She realized at this point her state of poor dress and the color drained from her face.

"Step inside, please," she muttered dejectedly, stepping aside so he could come into her home. As he swept past her she felt so violated, and he had never once touched her so far. He had seen the nakedness of her home, her state of living, and now her body (at least, to her, it was that way.) This time she shut the door with a defeated spirit.

"What did you want," she questioned, voice monotone, her arms desperately crossing over her chest so that she might prevent him from seeing anything further. When she received no response, she quirked a brow and became genuinely curious.

His back turned and his hands in his pockets, he was overall relatively still. He was expecting perhaps something a bit more elegant than this. He had been informed that Olette worked two jobs in her spare time and rumors were going about that she'd pick up another one since college had finished. With all the money, he was sure she'd live in a place where at least things were put together. Granted, with a little work, the apartment could look radiant – but it didn't, and that bothered him. He had not heard her question and instead was gazing in almost offense at the direction of her kitchen.

"So you live here?" He said at length, turning to face her. The blond's face was an unreadable mask that she found disturbing. Was he judging her by the condition of her house? The thought of it made her flustered and she snapped at him with a sarcastic retort.

"No, it's a _friend's_ house. They're never home so I stay here all of the time watching over the place for them."

"Could've fooled me. So you live here," he confirmed, brushing off her attack smoothly. "Why here?"

"Because I can afford it?" Her tone suggested that he had stepped on a nerve, and one glance at her face made him a bit uneasy at being here. He had no problem with her house although he'd never admit that; popular and wealthy people simply did not make themselves comfortable in "dumps," after all. What honestly bothered him was the fact that she lived here. She deserved better than this... any human being did.

"Would you mind – is it possible – do you have time if I took you out to dinner?" Seifer obviously wasn't used to handling attitude as well as he was trying to make it seem, and she had a feeling by the reddening of his face that he often didn't stutter. She had no pity on him and she detested the idea of being in public with him, but going out to eat sounded better than wallowing in solitude with a bowl of cereal. She nodded her head slowly, unwilling to verbally respond.

It was at this point she noticed that he was casually but decently dressed. An unidentifiable color for his vest over a light shirt along with navy pants most definitely brought out his eyes; he had a better taste of dress than attitude, she thought.

"Anything you like to eat especially?" As seemed the case with Seifer, if she ever attempted to resist in any way, he eventually would break that resistance. She was loathe to lose this unspoken battle and simply shrugged. She really didn't care, as long as it wasn't Mexican.

"How about El Gato? It's not far from here." He noted her visible grimace.

"I don't like Mexican," she stated slowly, almost sulkily. He almost smirked.

"How about Chinese then?" Eager to finish the conversation, she leaped upon the opportunity.

"Fine. Chinese. Let me get dressed." She stalked past him hurriedly, arms crossed over her chest, almost tripping over her own feet.

"You want to leave now?"

"_Yes,_" she called back over her shoulder, and promptly shut her bedroom door to prevent him from seeing anything. There wasn't exactly a lot she could wear, and she toyed with the idea of tossing on a casual shirt and leaving as she was; unfortunately, she considered herself more dignified than that and pulled a black knee-length skirt from her wardrobe. With it she had grabbed a black blouse with one too many ruffles at the hems for her, but it looked well together. The brunette was certain her hair was completely unmanageable today and found the concept of doing her hair a waste of time. A small pile of cosmetics offered her some lip gloss that she applied cautiously, being without the aid of a mirror.

She was at a loss for shoes. All she had in her possession was a pair of worn sneakers that were a faded blue and white. They absolutely would not do with her attire, but having nothing else she slipped them on grudgingly. Feeling mostly satisfied and prepared, she exited her bedroom and adjusted the back of her shirt nervously. She did want to look presentable although she didn't hold the highest opinion for Seifer. He seemed to appreciate her look and, to her surprise, said nothing; instead, he offered her his arm and a charming grin. His arrogance caused her to decline with a frown and she stepped past him to grab her phone; then, as if escorting him out, she opened her door and swept her arm out. With a sigh, he obliged and waited for her to lock up her apartment before he uttered a sound.

On their brief stroll to his vehicle, he almost commented on her choice of shoes but thought better of it. If her living conditions were not any indication of her budget, then nothing would be. Instead, he decided to compliment her on what she _did_ have that looked attractive.

"You didn't do anything to your hair," he noted.

"No, I didn't," she agreed almost amiably enough, taking care not to step too close to him. His car was within sight and she was hoping that the ride would be short.

"It still looks nice," he offered weakly. She said nothing and continued walking.

He was getting nowhere with this woman. She was the most frustrating person he had ever met in his life short of his own mother! It was actually an effort to be on _speaking terms_ with her. He evidently wasn't allowed to give her rides to her house (from the college, at least), it was taboo to speak of her home and it was pointless to mention her good looks. Seifer didn't have a lot to work with and wasn't accustomed to a girl maintaining a reserved composure around him. It was a nice change, he noted, but still a difficult one when the cause was due to the female despising him entirely.

As they came to a halt near his vehicle, he opened the door for her and watched her slip inside. She seemed extremely uncomfortable despite the lush seating of his Porsche. He knew very well that she wasn't going because she wanted him to take her out to dinner; so, then what? Was it because the bowl of cereal he had seen was all she had? Was it because she wanted to perhaps humiliate him in public? Did she simply want to test him on his choice of menu? Thoroughly puzzled, he shut the door once he was sure she was fully inside and made his way to the driver's seat.

When he was buckling his seatbelt, he couldn't help himself. He turned to her.

"Why do you hate me so much?" Her response stunned him as it was immediate and firm.

"Because you're full of yourself and I'm not a spread-legged dud like the others you're used to hanging around."

It tore open a wound into him and it stung profusely. No woman had ever spoken to him like that before – _no one_ had spoken to him like that _ever_. Feeling his temper flare, he wisely chose to keep quiet and turned back to face the wheel. Their ride went by in a tense silence.

When the car pulled out of the stop, the brunette unbuckled herself and exited the vehicle as quickly as it was physically possible. Seifer didn't understand what her _problem_ was. He was taking her to dinner and he was actually playing the gentleman. Did she not like being treated like a woman – did she like it rough, maybe? While she certainly could look feminine and attractive, she didn't show any signs of related behavior. It sent him mixed signals and it was with great bewilderment and stifled anger that he stepped out of the car to join his companion for the night.

Pao's Dragon normally was a throng of people but tonight, for some reason, the blond noticed that the restaurant was unusually vacant. It was obvious from the outside if one looked past the darkly tinted windows, but when he opened the door for his lady, he was able to step inside and see that aside from a family in the corner, they were the only ones planning to eat there.

"Table for two?" A waitress had approached them eagerly, also perturbed by a lack of customers.

"Two," he echoed, allowing their server to guide them to a nearby table. The room was exquisitely furnished enough that Olette seemed acutely uncomfortable, a factor which, at this point, made Seifer feel much better. As the waitress was handing them their menus, he turned to the staff member and presented to her a question he hoped she might not brush off.

"So why is it so empty tonight?"

"The Kung-fu Palace is having their grand opening a block down," she replied sullenly. Her accent was thick, proving her heritage, but he found little difficulty in understanding her. "There are entertainers there – martial artists – and music, as well as dancing. It's a Chinese bar, something we don't have," she finished bitterly.

"So what can I get you to drink?"

He glanced to his partner who seemed uninterested in anything taking place. Her eyes were directed towards the windows and cars passing by to undoubtedly the grand opening of the new Chinese "bar." She must not have heard because she said nothing. He intended to order the drinks in one go and so decided to choose for her.

"We'll both have iced tea."

When the waitress dismissed herself from the table, the woman with him spoke up with acid almost pouring from her mouth.

"Tea is such a _refined_ drink. I normally have water, for future reference."

"So you'll go out to eat with me again?"

She started, clearly annoyed by the lack of visible damage she had delivered.

"What is your problem? Does it look like I want to be here with you?"

"I didn't force you to come."

"You were caterwauling out of my door! You could have kicked me out," she seethed, voice low and hissing, a sign that warned him that this was soon to be a woman scorned.

"Look, I'm _sorry_, alright? I'm honestly sorry. I didn't expect you to hate going out in public with me so much. Next time, I'll bring food over there; how's that?"

Her anger seemed to deflate at this and he was quite pleased with himself for it.

"I don't want to be around you at all," she informed him casually, her tone suggesting nothing but her words everything. She had said this as he was in mid-sip, and he choked enough so the tea went through his nose. Flustered, he wiped his face clean by swiping it with his arm and leaned forward to her.

"What did I do to make you so uptight?"

"I am _not_ uptight!" Her voice had risen considerably enough so that the family in the back had turned their heads to see what the ruckus was about. He knew he had struck a nerve, but he never expected explosive reactions. Seifer felt at a loss as he watched her excuse herself from her seat and stroll outside.

He was fully aware that she had no way to get to her house before more undesirable people began to roam the city streets. He shook his head and sipped at his tea tentatively this time, unwilling for anymore disasters while drinking. After several moments when the waitress returned and Olette didn't, he felt a twinge of concern kindle in his mind. He politely explained to the waitress the predicament and that he was going to go after his date, not the Kung-fu Palace. With this relief in mind, his server brightened up and said it was fine, fine; that he should go after his lady friend before it got too dark. Already the streetlights were burning, announcing twilight's conclusion.


	3. A Shoulder to Cry On

Disclaimer: I don't own Kingdom Hearts or anything but this fic.

A/N: I wasn't really sure (again) what to do about the next chapter. Having no focus ahead, I expect to run into some loops or holes or whatever you'll call them, in the future. For now, this works I guess. ;

-----

Seifer first instinct was to lock himself in the safety of his car. He considered it for a moment on his way out of Pao's Dragon and then thought better of it. The brunette was nowhere in sight but he seriously doubted that she could have made it very far. While he was concerned about the outcome of his vehicle, fully aware of what company patrolled the streets at night, he was more concerned about the young woman that had abandoned him in the restaurant. Driving would do him no good; it would save him time, but it would prevent him from reaching areas such as alleyways and buildings that Olette might have decided was a good hiding place – although, she didn't seem the type to hide. The girl was a bundle of dynamite. She was amazing.

Determined to locate his partner for the evening, the blond took a left from the establishment and began to search for Olette from the sidewalk. His gaze sifted through any groups that passed by and he scanned into every window and alleyway he found. When he was nearly out of sight of his vehicle, he stopped short near an intersection and assumed that she had not gone this way. Any male with half a jar of hormones passing by would have harassed her by now and caused a fuss; regardless of her sneakers, the brunette had looked stunning. The thought of it made him frustrated that he hadn't bothered trying to stop her on her way out.

Turning back the other way, he was surprised to see who he was pursuing coming in his direction. He figured she would have wanted to walk home again even if it were a dangerous and improbable process. When she was within arm's length, she reached out and slapped him firmly across the face with enough force that he stumbled slightly. Not only was the woman a lit fuse, but she had quite the arm, the blond discovered.

"Take me home," she demanded. "I can't make it on foot tonight." She was not only cranky but also tired. Her legs still hurt and while she was certain no one could see the growing bruise on her leg beneath her skirt, she could definitely feel it. Her feet were sore and her muscles ached. Just walking out of the restaurant had caused her severe discomfort as it was.

"Why should I take you home when you're acting like a brat?" His retort earned him another strike, this time on the other cheek.

"Because you took me out here and I'm your responsibility!"

"I'm not responsible for dealing with this attitude you're giving me!"

"You're the one with the attitude, calling me uptight, you ass!"

"Maybe I shouldn't have come out to look for you if you're going to be like this," he stated with as much calm as he could muster.

She felt like she had struck ice. No matter how much she screeched and wailed at him, no matter the insults and accusations she flung, no matter how insufferable she was being; he wouldn't give up. She had to admit that he was being fairly reasonable, but she still could not see what exactly it was that attracted all the girls from the college. There was nothing but looks, and those went away.

"When you've grown up a notch, I'll take you home," he concluded. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and brushed past her as if he was a steel wall. This wasn't the man that had offered her dinner, a man with a warm and inviting spirit around him; this was a man who behaved as if he were defeated and tending to sore wounds. It made her feel almost guilty to see him like this because of her.

For a great while she stood where she was, hands clutched tightly around her phone and tremors wracking her body. She had no indication from anywhere what to do. The streetlights weren't enough to ward off the dark and soon she began to notice a decline of the average upstanding citizen. She didn't want to be alone here in the city; there were plenty of rapists, thieves, and murderers out here and she didn't want to become a victim – but she didn't want to have to apologize or be defeated by Seifer again. The stubborn streak in her flared up and she convinced herself that she had done nothing wrong. He deserved every bit of "attitude" she had given him! He was a jerk who was so full of himself that he obviously could not recognize it even since she had told him.

So when the suspicious looking man approached her, trying to sweet-talk her and ask if she wanted a ride, why did she wish she was with the man she had so despised just a moment before?

"Come on, baby cakes. You look like you could use a good time," the man attempted to persuade her, an unconvincing grin on his face. With an unkempt mustache and tattered clothes, she seriously doubted that she was the only one that felt negatively about this person.

"I'm not interested," she muttered, turning away to signify that she was feeling what she said, and that she was finished with the conversation as far as she was concerned. The man was adamant, however, and began to follow her.

"You don't know what you're missing. I can show you around and we can have some fun."

"I said I'm not interested," she repeated, doing her best to sound firm. It was no use; obviously this character wasn't listening to her.

"I _insist_," he growled.

She felt a hand clamp around her arm and she yelped from the pressure. She couldn't pull her arm from his grasp and she began to grow panicked. What was _wrong_ with this man? Didn't he have anything better to do with his time than harass young women?

"Come with me and you'll have a good time, I promise, sugar," she heard him say, but she was no longer truly listening. Her mind sought furiously for a way to escape and in her desperation she swung her leg forward and kicked at his knees. It brought a howl of pain from her attacker and distracted him long enough to loosen his grip. Seizing her opportunity, she bolted in the direction that she had last seen Seifer go.

She realized she had been extremely lucky. The man had only followed her for a little ways before he reached a couple of blocks from the restaurant. Loyal customers had begun to make their ways to Pao's Dragon and he couldn't afford getting caught, she imagined. Outside of the business she managed to spot a familiar face and moved towards it as fast as her aching legs would take her.

"Take me home," she pleaded. Still moderately breathless from her escape, she had to speak between breaths.

The blond was genuinely disturbed but he felt it necessary to mask it. The state of his date was perplexing. He had not seen her come back which had surprised him, because he had been keeping a watch for her despite their argument; he was at a loss for pleasant situations that would require her to be so winded. He put his arm around her shoulders tentatively and became increasingly worried as he was met with no resistance.

"Are you okay?"

"Just take me home, please."

Now anxious and quite concerned, he led her to his car and escorted her inside. She seemed to relax once he had joined her and locked the doors, but nothing was said about whatever traumatizing experience she had faced. As he started the car, he decided to pry.

"What happened?"

"There are bigger jerks than you, I learned," she stated simply. He understood then.

"You should have come back sooner. It couldn't have taken you that long to walk back over here."

"And let you have a sense of victory?"

Her tone made him glance over to her. He could not tell if she was being serious or not. She seemed indifferent for the most part, aside from a slight shake. The blond was unable to completely take his eye off of her. Despite the incident she seemed back to normal; it was a feat most females he knew could not accomplish. He felt a growing respect for her because of this.

The ride seemed shorter even though the same route was taken back to her apartment. Once there, he exited the Porsche and held open the door for her again. He was surprised to see that she seemed a bit hesitant to leave.

"We're home," he informed her, subtly prodding her to step out. After a moment, she complied and slipped out. As she stood, she made brief eye contact with him, then walked off without a word and disappeared behind her door. There was no "Thank you," no "I had a good time," and not even a "We should do this again sometime." There didn't need to be. The look in her eyes told him volumes. Olette was a beautiful young woman, but she was lonely; yet she wasn't about to let her loneliness cause her to lower her standards. His respect for her steadily increased upon this revelation.

Suddenly he felt compelled to go back to her. Unsure of what else to do and having nothing else planned, he strolled back to her door and knocked on it lightly.

"Just a minute," came the muffled reply. He heard the rustling of clothes and was aware that this time she probably was going to answer the door properly dressed. It almost made him smile, but he stopped short as the door opened.

She obviously wasn't expecting him judging by the look on her face. Her hand pushed open the door a bit further as if to invite him inside and her other hand clutched a denim jacket shut over her chest. She still had not changed from her skirt and he thought that she had no need to.

"May I come in?"

She seemed indecisive, but after a moment nodded and stepped aside to allow him entrance.

"Sure."

He had never thought that he would be back in her apartment again. The place most definitely was not his favorite location to lounge about but he thought he could get used to it. Olette lived here and that was what mattered at the moment.

"What did you need?" She seemed strangely friendlier for some reason now although she merely looked inquisitive. She was not snapping in his face and he considered it an improvement.

"Nothing," he told her honestly. "I just felt the urge to come see you again."

"I see. I don't have anything to offer you here."

"You mean that, don't you?"

"I mean what?"

"That you don't have anything to offer me. It's not just me; you really don't have anything to even offer yourself, do you?"

He knew he had caught her off guard by the stunned look on her face. It slowly was replaced by one that resembled annoyance.

"It's none of your business about my living conditions. If you don't have anything you need, then get out," she spat, arms crossing over her chest as if to protect herself from any other questions he might present.

He had not expected her to lash out at him for such a simple question. Clearly the subject about her lifestyle was a sensitive one.

"I didn't mean anything by it," he began, pausing to see if she would cut him off. When she said nothing, he pressed on. "I don't need anything from you. I came here to see you, not your house or to have whatever is in it. You don't have to offer me anything, alright?"

When she remained silent, he pushed the issue.

"_Alright_?"

"Fair enough," she agreed. "Would you like to sit down, then? The couch is in decent repair," she offered, one hand sweeping towards the furniture in an inviting gesture. He shrugged and made his way over to sit down. Again, he was surprised when she sat next to him; he was not surprised by how she hunched over and gazed down at the floor.

"Do your friends come over often?" He didn't see any harm in asking about her friends.

"No." Her tone shocked him; it was bitter and made him decide speaking of her friends was also off-limits. He attempted to find something else to discuss that wouldn't offend her.

"Do you have family?" Her face grew more sullen, if possible.

"My mother died last month. She was the last one." Apparently this was also not something to talk about.

"You don't have pets, do you?"

"I live alone, Seifer," she stated, rising from the sofa. From this angle he was able to see the scrape on her leg and, against his better judgment, he grabbed her hand to prevent her from creating distance. He had no other ideas to keep her from throwing him out; he was not ready to leave yet.

"Your leg," was all he said. He was oblivious of the stare she was boring into him.

"Yes, I have a leg," she uttered quietly. She was aware that he had most likely seen the wound on her shin by now, and her suspicions were confirmed when he pushed enough of the fabric of her skirt away to inspect it closely. She felt her cheeks heat and attempted to pull away. She was unprepared for the firm tug in response. Later on Seifer would argue that his action was meant to keep her from pulling away, but what had happened was that she had lost her balance and toppled forward in his direction.

She had often read in comics and in stories that when this happened, the lady fell cleanly into the man's lap. Instead of landing in his lap, she stumbled over his legs in a struggle not to hit the ground and slipped towards the floor for the second time that day. She closed her eyes out of habit and was not able to see his arm shoot out to prevent her fall; so when she came to a sudden stop and did not feel her head slam into the floor, she was almost delighted. As her eyes slid open she noted that his arm was pressing into her chest most uncomfortably and that his other arm was loosely encircling her waist. It was a position many girls would have killed to be in, but it was not one she wanted yet. She was relieved when he let her go as she straightened up.

The brunette wanted to thank him but said nothing – her voice had left her. She knew well that her face was sporting a noticeable red, and piled on top of the events recently the embarrassment was too much for her to handle. As much as she tried to resist it, she began to cry.

It was alarming to see the woman that had fought so hard, and had been so strong, break down in front of him. It was plain to Seifer that whatever she had been through tonight had caused everything to tumble down; but he was unsure of how to help her. He did not understand her situation or practically anything happening in her life; she told him nothing and he doubted that she would tell him much in the future. She protested against his being a gentleman but griped constantly about how arrogant and rude he was; what was he in her life? Granted that he had rarely ever spoken to her and had no reason to butt into her life; but she needed help, she needed it _now_, and there did not seem to be anyone else to give it to her.

Unsure of what else to do, he stood and placed an arm around her shoulders. When she remained unresponsive, he lowered his head and tried to get a clear look at her face.

"Hey, what's wrong? Do you want to talk?" Her head shook but she made no attempts to pull away from him. It was a good sign considering their interaction so far.

"You should sit down," he suggested. She wiped her eyes and joined him on the sofa, disregarding her previous needs to keep her distance; she leaned on him freely and let the tears roll down her face. There were no words, no explanations; just the gasps and choked cries as the two sat together. He had learned that her world was fragile as well as lonely. For this reason he was hesitant to leave, but as time passed and it was nearing midnight, he knew he should get home. When she had gradually began to quiet and he had managed to lull her into a state of calm breathing, he turned to her.

"Hey, you have my number, right?" She shook her head numbly. He was distinctly aware of her head in the crook of his shoulder and felt reluctant to leave.

"Well I'll give you my number so you can call if you need anything. I'm going to have to go."

At this she began to mutter so incoherently that no matter how intently he listened, he could not understand her.

"Slow down! I can't understand you; you're too muffled!"

She sniffed deeply and swallowed. The brunette despised her current condition and what she was about to say, but she felt so traumatized and had no one else to call for comfort and consolation.

"I don't want," she began, wiping her nose with the back of her hand, "I don't want to be alone." Having admitted this, she inhaled and continued.

"When you had gone back to your car earlier tonight, there was a man there." She glanced at him as if for approval and he nodded to show that she had his attention. Satisfied that he was listening, she began to make gestures as she explained the ordeal that she had gone through with the man on the street.

"I don't want to be alone. It's stupid but I feel that I'll be followed or someone will break into my house and do something," she finished. Her fingers were weaving together nervously; she could not bring herself to ask what she wanted to ask – she refused to ask. She had no business asking such a thing from Seifer; she barely knew him! But he understood.

"You want to stay at my house tonight? I have room for you."

She looked at him uncertainly. Her eyes were red and swollen and her hair was a mess; she knew she must have looked horrible and had no desire for him to see her in such a state, but she needed confirmation that he was being serious. When she saw the look in his eyes she understood his mind was not on inappropriate things and that he was not as full of himself as she had made him out to be. She would have guessed that being popular meant nothing to him. He was genuinely worried about her and was tending to her needs the best he could, the best she would let him. She owed him an apology, he deserved it.

"I'm sorry for being rude to you so far."

He regarded her silently for a moment before his face split into a warm smile.

"It's no problem. I understand that you have problems; everyone does. So, did you want to come to my house?" She returned his smile hesitantly.

"I'd like that."


	4. There Are Many

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

A/N: I originally was on a fic-writing spree and wanted to work on Her instead of this chapter, but I knew that if I did that I would ditch this story. I have a lot of ditched material and I tried my best to finish this first. In the end, I ditched it anyways. As such, the chapter is actually split into two writing sessions. I hope the quality is up to par with the previous chapters; I had no idea what to put here at _all_. Much apologies for a terrible description of the house; it was somewhat rushed.

Anyways, here it is. Enjoy.

* * *

She had never been an untrusting person for the most part, but lately her circumstances had caused her to be rather suspicious of people. Hayner had left without so much as a word to the war and she assumed he was never coming back; Pence had his own things to do and while they still communicated as friends she felt no relation to him anymore. There were hardly any other people she had grown to trust over the years as close friends and she had decided some time ago that she was never going to make any more friends like them. Now she felt it was necessary to make adjustments to that vow.

She never was going to have friends like Hayner and Pence again. They were their own sort of person and they were a part of her childhood. Close friends were possible again, she realized, as she grew older. Seifer was a fascinating example of it.

The man had caught her eye some time ago but she had never developed her interest; there had been no conscious need for it. As he had grown to be more persistent (which was something that puzzled her: why would someone continue to be nice to her after she had been so offensive and distant?) she learned that he was not as arrogant as he had originally seemed. While Seifer was thoroughly confident in his abilities and his standing in the world, it was not the center of his life; he had a heart for others and he was showing it to her. The thought of it touched her in some strange way.

He was showing that tender side to her now as he was leading her from her apartment. She had taken several minutes to collect a change of clothes for the morning, some hygienic belongings, her artistic papers, and her phone – and he had waited without complaint the entire time. He had even insisted on carrying the bag into which she had hastily stuffed everything; and no matter how she protested, it was a lost cause for he had already decided. She had felt compelled to slap at him again but was reminded, when he had begun to usher her out the door, that he was doing her a great favor. She owed him the respect to be, at the very least, polite.

Once they had settled in the car and he had turned the ignition key, he turned to her and stared at her levelly.

"Are you sure you want to come over?" She regarded him curiously.

"Why wouldn't I?"

"I know you don't want to be alone, but is this something you might regret? I know you're not really comfortable around me so I can understand if you might want me to take you somewhere else."

"I don't have anywhere else to go," she confessed and she averted her eyes. She did not want to make it sound as if she had no other choice but to go with him, but had nothing else to say; fortunately, he seemed to understand.

"Alright. If you want to go home at any time, though, you let me know, alright?"

She agreed. Her elbow found a level area on the door to lean on and she rested her chin against her hand. As much as she had little attraction for expensive things, such as the Porsche, it was extremely comfortable and it rode smoothly. Her tired eyes took in the scenery and she recognized some of the streets they passed, and others were new faces to her that winked their streetlamp eyes as her. Gradually she felt into a light sleep and was barely aware the vehicle had stopped.

"We're here," she heard him announce indifferently. Whether he was home or not could not have mattered much to him. He came here every day. She was expecting something extravagant.

For the first time, when she opened her eyes, she was rewarded with assuming correctly. It was by no means a mansion, but it was large enough to easily be considered an upper-class house. It looked almost mystical in the moonlight.

She opened the door for herself this time, adamant that she not play the role of a damsel in distress entirely, and stepped out cautiously onto the sidewalk. A simple and dainty garden lined the pathway to the entrance door and once she grabbed her tote bag, she strolled up to the house slowly so she could admire the lawn.

Astilbe flowers lined the edge of the house. To her left there was a small pond encircled by rocks. The outer, western limits of the lawn were guarded with bushes that she thought, with her limited vision, were covered in roses. To her right she noticed something that she found breathtaking: surrounded in a multitude of violet pansies was a wooden white gazebo that was shrouded in a mass of moonflowers; the rays of the swelling moon hit the flowers in a way that they seemed to glow a faint, almost fluorescent white and blue. While she was not one to dwell on the matters of couples as of late, she found the idea of sitting there with her potential, future beloved a rather entertaining idea. The sight looked romantic.

"Like what you see?"

She jumped and realized she had stopped in the middle of the walkway. Abashed, she moved aside so he could make his way to the door. She followed him, stepping onto the smoothed and wooden porch. She noticed a swinging bench to her left which, once she had caught sight of it, seemed to balance out the beauty of the gazebo. The door was a white wall with a heart of oval glass. The house did not have to be big to be a mansion, she decided. It was a drastic change from her apartment for sure, beautiful with simple but refined touches.

Inside, the house displayed polished marble floors that reminded her of a chess board; black and white squares matched dull beige furniture that was rather mundane in comparison to the rest of the house. Glass lamps dimly lit the room and a lethargic Siamese, perched on the back of a loveseat, gazed at her indifferently. To her surprise, there was no fireplace despite the spacious living room; it would have completed the picture. Farther back, past the chairs, she could see into the kitchen. It appeared quite small and it seemed it held enough room for one wall of counter and sink, one corner for a stove, and the rest of the room for a round table that would seat three people.

Once inside, she felt increasingly awkward and stood motionless as she watched her host lock the door and disappear into the kitchen. The feline blinked once at her from its lethargic posture, awakened by a sudden spill of light from the other room, and then it uttered a yawn. This late in the night, the cat had no intention of greeting any guests and even dared to look indignant about an intruder in its house. The creature was the complete opposite of its owner, who emerged from the kitchen with a can of coke in each hand. Olette found herself accepting the drink and felt a mild blush forming from having remained loitering in the middle of the room.

"We didn't finish dinner so I'm heating some food up in the kitchen right now. You can sit down if you want." His words were a salve that seemed to smooth onto her, a welcome touch from the more stressful events earlier in the evening. She took a moment to decide whether or not she really was confident in her decision to stay here before she determined that, for once, she would leave herself to second-guess her choice tomorrow.

Olette stepped over to the nearest piece of furniture, the "mundane" beige loveseat, and lowered herself onto the cushion, mindful not to spill the drink. From the back of the sofa opposite to her, the cat uttered a disgruntled sound, arched its back into a stretch, and slipped off from its perch to slink off to somewhere more private. It was in some way cute enough to cause her to almost smile.

To her side, Seifer stood and studied her. The air hissed at his fingertips as he opened his can and took an indulgent sip. For a period afterward, the can remained idle in his hand while he considered her.

In their short time of interaction, he had already witnessed obvious changes and developments to Olette's personality since he had seen her when they were younger. As a youth, she had been lively and strangely maternal for her age, equipped with common sense that had become useful when dealing with the other members of her childhood group of friends. Over time as they had graduated high school and transferred into college, he had noticed an unexpected absence in those friends. She had matured into an intelligent, witty, and attractive young woman, and every day she grew more as such, the less he saw her socialize. In fact, the more she accomplished concerning education, the less he saw her at the college. Rumors had spread that she was too good for most of society and had taken on two jobs to make up for the lack of her social life. The exchange after the graduation ceremony was trivial and he refused to regard rumor as fact based on the little verbal spat he received, but seeing her behavior tonight had brought up more questions.

What turned a beautiful woman with a smile like the sun, friendly and always looking out for everyone else, into someone who was aggressive, bitter, and withdrawn? What lowered her standards so that she compromised her quality of life and allowed herself to live in miserable housing, isolated from the rest of the world, with hardly any food, clothes, and any time to herself? What made her choose to slave over two jobs so she could return to a dump in which to live alone every night? She obviously had goals or else she would not have cared to further her education in the college. She had interests and talents, if her art was any indication. She was brilliant, the evidence revealed through her stellar grades. For all this, though, she was alone and largely discontented with life, and seemed unwilling to do anything to change it.

When Olette looked up from the couch, her eyes met Seifer's and she instantly felt self-conscious. His stare was intense and pensive; it concealed much more than his face could have shown and yet it was clear that his focus was on her. He could have been thinking anything. It made her shift in her seat and she tried to hide the fact that it affected her by taking a sip out of the coke can. Her lips twitched upwards nervously and she kept her eyes trained ahead where the Siamese had been moments before.

Seifer cleared his throat to break the silence. She glanced at him and then back at the sofa.

"Do you want some chicken? I have some that's been baked. There's rice with it, too."

It seemed so ridiculous that someone so plainly wealthy would eat something as simple as chicken; yet, from her most recent dining experience, Olette could not remember the last time she had eaten anything like either chicken or rice. The meals for the past week alone had consisted entirely of boxes of Apple Jacks, the last grocery item in her pantry. Her stomach reminded her that she had not yet eaten a real dinner tonight, either, aside from the pitiful amount of aforementioned cereal.

"If you don't mind," she replied hesitantly.

"I wouldn't offer if I'd mind. Don't worry about it." Seifer remained where he stood a moment longer, eyes lingering on her, before he returned to the kitchen and left Olette to herself.

The brunette was unsure of what to think or how to feel. Over the course of the day she had embarrassed herself on several occasions with more severity than she cared to acknowledge. While Seifer had proven himself capable of noting the needs of others, not just his own, and acting on those observations in incomprehensible forbearance, her fear of being seen as repulsive for her own shortcomings in etiquette prevented her from feeling relaxed around him.

She was not able to deny that he had been generous to her tonight, though she could still not fathom any reason for it. Aside from his caterwauling outside her apartment, the blond had been completely and unexpectedly pleasant in both his actions and conversation. Blunt to the point of almost being tactless, he had attempted to confront certain subjects of her life that no one had ever dared to touch, mostly because it had been a while since she had even been spoken to by anyone. Every effort she made to rebuff him was futile and, tonight, her vulnerability in the streets had led her to abandon her strive for independence in favor for companionship.

That did not change the fact that Olette still did not know Seifer Almasy that well.

He was an anomaly by all accounts. Over the years, he had changed from a wholly self-centered, brash, demanding fool to someone who received respect, and rightly so. The favor among his peers was well-earned due to his accomplishments and agreeable nature. His grades were above average, if only slightly, and he was known for having held a steady and decent job for the entirety of his period in college. With an extensive ring of friendships and countless, adoring female fans, he was idolized and envied by all the students that had been around him. Now that he was out of college she did not doubt that he would advance in his career, whatever that might be, and express romantic interests in pursuit of a family of his own. His standards of living were decent at a minimum and he wasted little effort or time on anything beneath those standards.

So Olette could not understand why he had appeared outside her apartment door. There was no sense in his expressed desire to take her out to a dinner. Beyond that kindness, he had extended an invitation to his own house for the sake of her comfort. During the entire time he had not even hinted at anything remotely perverse or sexual, as if he were interested more in interacting with her than he was in hunting for what he could get out of her. It was like he saw something in her that even she could not see in herself. That thought threatened to unsettle her.

"You still good with your drink?"

Seifer's voice startled the female out of her train of thoughts. As he approached with plates loaded with chicken and rice, utensils jutting out of his pockets, she glanced down at the can in her hand. She still had most of her coke and the drink had been forgotten while she had tried to figure out her reason of being here.

"I have enough."

"Alright. If you need anything else, just let me know and I'll get it for you."

The dim glow of lamps from the wall cast the colors of sunset on the plate he offered to her. Olette stared at it with thinly concealed amazement. A pair of chicken breasts, seasoned with herbs, had been placed on a bed of wild rice. It made her mouth water and she had to suck her stomach in to prevent it from roaring in hunger. Her hands grasped onto the plate and she carefully transferred it over to her lap. She accepted the fork, knife, and napkin with the same caution, handling each thing as if it were laden with traps. It was not until Seifer sat across from her on the sofa that she found her voice.

"It looks great. Thank you."

"Sure. No big deal. Not every night I get to have a pretty lady eat my own cooking."

"You made this yourself?" She blinked at her plate in surprise. It was neatly arranged and looked well cooked enough to be a heat-and-serve dinner. Had he not mentioned it, she never would have guessed him to be the chef of the dish.

"Yeah. It shouldn't be that strange, really. If you want to eat, you learn to cook. It's what normal people do." Normal people. The words struck her strangely and her appetite drifted away. The brunette nudged her rice with a fork while Seifer proceeded to cut into his chicken. He was quick to notice her lack of appetite and paused mid-bite.

Thus far today, the female had been a wild card in response to events; conversation had been difficult at best and there had been high volumes of tension. Now, there was a visible difference in her mannerisms. It was almost like she was subdued, or exhausted in a way that suggested that she had not slept in days. He made an attempt to test the waters carefully.

"Do you need something else to go with your food?"

"No." Her reply was immediate and succinct. Still she did not begin to eat. The blond suspected it was something beyond food, but he had no idea how to even start to address an unknown subject when he had no idea how far he could go.

"Would you prefer to sit somewhere else?"

"I'm fine."

"Are you not hungry anymore?"

"No." Whether that meant she was no longer hungry, or if it meant she was still hungry, he had no idea.

"Is it me being here? I can move if you want so you can eat alone."

"That's not it."

"Then what is it?"

Olette peered down at her plate with mild confusion. He was prying as subtly as he could, that much was obvious to her, but his degree of patience yet again baffled her. It was his house, and he had every right to be frustrated with her tightlipped responses. Instead, he had resumed eating, but he was doing so slowly and glancing up at her with peculiar frequency. His interest was beyond her understanding. He had helped her tonight when most others would have left her on the streets for a cruel fate, and for that reason alone she relented at great length.

"It's not the food," she admitted. She set her fork down on the side of her plate. The sound resounded with her and gave her the imagery that the icy walls of defense around her had just been chipped. His fork echoed hers as he gave pause to eating in order to give her his full attention. She swallowed thickly and inhaled deeply; she needed to at least seem calm when she spoke.

"You don't have to do any of this for me. I'm just another failure in life who managed to graduate college. I was asinine to you earlier today and rejected nearly every attempt you made to be kind to me. I don't deserve your help, and I don't understand why you insist on continuing to try to give me any. I don't understand you at all."

Seifer had already figured it had nothing to do with the food, but he genuinely found himself surprised at her explanation. Before he could form any sort of response, she had continued. Now that she had started, she would finish.

"There are so many better people you could be spending your time on. I'm sure you have friends and I know you have lots of girls who would love to be in my place right now." It was strangely difficult not to sound bitter at that. "No matter what I think, I still don't understand why you showed up at my apartment and tried to spend some time with me. I'm just a recluse who spends her time fantasizing about what I don't have in life, who lives in a dumpy apartment building, who spends so much time working that I've become unaccustomed to socializing with anyone, who's just a nobody that doesn't meet even average in society."

Olette found herself blinking back tears.

"I know what people say about me, and a lot of what they say is true. People have standards, and you clearly have some far better than what I do. So why are you spending time with me? It doesn't feel like I fit your standards at all. It doesn't seem like I warrant any attention from someone like you at all."

His expression was unreadable through the sudden onslaught of tears. The dam in her had begun to break. She was confused and unsure, frustrated with everything in her life, seemingly unable to deal with the recent events and the potential changes that stood before her – and she was unraveling all of this in front of a practical stranger.

"Someone like me," was all Seifer said at first. She stared at him blankly, mute while he set his plate aside on the sofa and pushed himself up to stand. It seemed like he was going to leave the room in disgust judging from his stride around to the back of the furniture, his shoulders tense and his face too masked to be normal.

"Someone like me," he repeated again, voice soft, his back to her and his hands in his pockets. From where he stood, the light from the kitchen was blocked off by his figure and his back was lit by the faint glow emanating from the lamps.

"What sort of person did you think I was?" There was a little laugh under his breath. "Or, rather, what sort of person did you think I am?"

He turned to face her when she said nothing, and Seifer could not remember having ever seen anyone else look so distinctly lost. She was staring at him with emerald eyes shimmering with tears, hands resting in her laps with her fingers clutching wrinkles into her black skirt. Those sneakers stood out terribly, much like she seemed to view herself with the rest of the world around her. A medley of grief, disappointment, confusion, fatigue, desperation, loss – they all ghosted across her face in that moment. With the dim light tracing over her, she looked like a broken angel, one who had her dignity and life slip out of her fingers and, through sheer resolve to regain it, had struggled so far; but one who had now slipped for what might be the final time, there being an indecision to continue after so much struggle and failure, and there being an insecurity about self-worth, and there being an uncertainty if that light of hope in the darkness was truly worth pursuing. It was a fairly cliché description and yet the most fitting one he could find. The picture burned into his mind so strongly, he doubted that he would forget it anytime soon.

Seifer came around the sofa and crossed the room to her. He sat beside her but refrained from touching her. There was a large gap in discussion, her questions unanswered for the period of silence, and he just listened. The sound of their breathing and of her ill-disguised sniffles hovered in the air around them for several minutes. His eyes focused straight ahead on the table in the kitchen while the female beside him worked to regain some composure. At great length, he sighed and looked down to her.

"Olette, do you know why I came to your house?"

At his question, the brunette wiped away more salty liquid with the back of her hand and with her palms, shook her head, and peered up at him with the makings of swellings around her eyes.

"Because you weren't interested, that's why."

Her brows furrowed as she tried to grasp the meaning of his statement. A moment later, Olette's mouth twisted down into a frown. Her voice was unsteady but harbored clear traces of offense.

"What did you say?"

A bit of confusion of his own filtered into his eyes. Too late he understood the implications she had perceived.

"You mean to tell me you came to my house and embarrassed me by commenting on my impoverished conditions because I wasn't interested? You pretended to care about what I felt and tried to be nice to me because that was really what you wanted, wasn't it? It never was about me; it was about doing whatever you wanted, and even if I wasn't interested, you were going to do it anyways because of what? What? Because there was some sort of conquest you had yet to achieve? Because there was some sort of self-conscious gratification about yourself that you had yet to attain?"

"No, no, no, that's not it –"

She sucked air into her cheeks, suddenly feeling livid. All this time she had been foolish enough to think that he had changed, but really nothing had changed. Seifer Almasy could not possibly have the capability of changing into anyone attractive, anyone who cared about anyone else, anyone who would take no for an answer.

Olette grabbed the plate from her lap and stuffed it at him along with the drink. He caught them in his hands with a perplexed look in her direction.

"What –"

"I should have known better," she ground out, feeling heat take over her face. "I shouldn't have come. I shouldn't have left my house to go anywhere with you."

"Now wait a minute –"

"You never were interested in anyone but yourself. You think one nice thing changes anything? Is that what you think?" Her voice began to rise and she got to her feet. "That's not how life works!"

Seifer realized things had blown out of proportion faster than he could ever have anticipated. He dropped the plate and drink onto the cushion behind him and stood up. His hand barely caught her wrist before she had begun to stomp away for the door. She jerked away to free herself, but he would not relent. Athletics had given him a solid build and a firm grip when he wanted to use them.

"Listen to me."

"No! Get away from me! I'm leaving – leaving here and I don't want to hear anything you have to say, you pompous git, you –"

"Will you shut up?" For the first time since her outbursts, his voice had reached a point near of impatient yelling. It stunned her into a momentary silence and he seized upon the opportunity to correct her.

"I didn't mean I was going to steamroll over you. I genuinely wanted to take you out to dinner because of you." He saw her mouth open and held up his other hand to silence her. "No, stop. Listen, please." She stared at him sullenly but in obedient quiet beside short huffs of breath.

"What I meant when I said that you weren't interested is that you weren't interested in what you could get out of me." Seeing her once-again dumbfounded stare, he exhaled in moderate relief and tried to finish now what he had meant to finish a minute ago.

"There are too many people who want to ride my tailcoats. It's too easy to mooch off of someone who already has money or successes so you don't have to do it yourself. People try to be around me for appearances and what they can gain out of it, thinking that my friendship will equal some sort of shared wealth, and it gets kind of tiring after a while. When I bumped into you earlier, I realized you weren't like that. Sure, I forgot your name – it's been years, I'm sorry – but I never really forgot what you were like; and I did hear things about you, but none of them really rubbed me the wrong way. That might seem hard for you to believe, but because of your differences, you stand out to me with potential. Good potential."

He released her arm and, to further his relief, she did not proceed for the exit. Instead, she stared dumbly at him with disbelief and something else he could not discern.

"It's been a while since I spent time with people just to spend time with them. I usually have to fend off people prowling for gain. Do you understand? I never went to get anything out of you. You had nothing to offer me, and that's fine; it was more that you didn't want anything I had."

Olette pressed her lips together until she had almost rolled them into her teeth as far back as they would go. She had just blindly accused an innocent man of intending to commit some sort of heinous deed against her, and he had just proved her wrong in an unfairly kind and longsuffering manner – again. She had never felt so humiliated before in her life.

"I'm – I'm so s-sorry, I had no idea – I just – I can't seem t-to – my temper – I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"

Just as before in her apartment, Olette began to sob, and the words "I'm sorry" poured out of her mouth in repetition so much that they eventually became unintelligible. Her body became racked with tremors. She tried to wipe her tears away but they escaped at such a rapid speed that it only served to coat her hands and the effort was otherwise useless. When he tried to reach for her, she stepped backwards and shook her head back and forth with great force, and continued to weep relentlessly in the middle of the room.

Seifer gazed at her with concern, briefly unsure of what to do. He was hesitant to touch her again, and this called for more than just a simple arm around the shoulders. It was more than a childish display of waterworks; this was grief. Her face would need cold water and her eyes would probably need ice after this. She still needed to eat and plainly would need rest. But he could offer her none of these with her in such an unstable state. Ultimately, he decided that it was best to gain some control over the situation before she exhausted herself to the point of passing out on his floor.

The blond closed the distance between them and wrapped his arms around her. He was, at first, met with resistance, but it was weak and she soon succumbed to his embrace. His hands offered her a small consolation in comforting strokes along the back of her head, on wavy curls of chocolate, and one arm encircled her torso with some protectiveness; but it was mostly soft tones of his voice that soothed her. There was again a relative stillness in the air, disrupted only by the soft sounds of her erratic but steadying breathing, the hiccups and sobs muffled by his chest, the murmurs of hushed words into her hair.

It was an intimate moment that offered solace and she was too beside herself to refuse. Olette knew she had been a fool in extreme measures tonight and felt obligated to make up for it somehow, but right now she could think of nothing to remedy it. She could concentrate on nothing at all but the feel of someone stronger and more solid than she was right now. When her sobs subsided and the hiccups left her, she eased out of his hold gingerly and stared down at his floor with shame.

"I should go."

"You don't have to."

"But I – I've been a huge jerk and I shouldn't impose on you anymore."

"It's not a problem. My offer to stay the night still stands."

"But –"

"I don't mind it at all." Seifer breathed out as if considering the wisdom of the next words, then added, "I'd like it if you stayed tonight."

There was a great moment of deliberation as she weighed the possible outcomes of her decisions. If she went home, she would have to suffer an uncomfortable feeling during the ride. She would then be alone in her apartment dwelling of questionable state, left to feel vulnerable and paranoid that, at any moment, a lewd stranger might crawl in through her window or break into her door and abuse her. If she stayed here, none of those things were an issue; and, while she might feel conscientious about being in Seifer's house overnight, especially since she barely knew him, it was only for one night. Exhaustion and the need for security won out. Plus, he had said he did not mind – that he would like it. That had to count for something after he had suffered all this from her so far.

The brunette gave a sigh of defeat and offered a fragile smile at him.

"Thank you." He returned her smile warmly, relieved at her choice. There was more confidence that she would be safe here – not only from unwanted and criminal guests, but also from herself.

"Anytime, Olette. Do you want to finish dinner, or do you me to take you to the guest room now?"

A pang of hunger reawakened in her belly at the mention of dinner. In her explosive fit, she had forgotten that she was truly hungry. Color spilled into her cheeks. Now that the emotional state of calamity had ended, she felt ravenous.

"Dinner, please."

"Right this way, then," and the blond dipped halfway into a bow and waved her over to the loveseat again.

The rest of the night went more smoothly as they dined together on chicken and rice. Seifer entertained her with stories of various, humiliating experiences during college sports. He pulled laughs out of her with tales of detailed pranks he and others had inflicted on uptight and unsuspecting classmates and teachers. Tears of amusement trickled out of her eyes when he shared his memory of his first night out of his parents' house.

When the food had disappeared off both of their plates, Seifer stacked the dishes on top of each other and excused himself to place them in his dishwasher and set the machine to work. By the time he returned, Olette was curled up in the corner of his loveseat, drink considerately set on the floor so as not to spill, her arms folded over themselves on the side, head nestled on the corner of her elbow. Her eyes fluttered slightly against her cheeks, stray curls of hair lingered over her face, and her lips were parted to allow for soundless breaths against the arm of the furniture.

He allowed himself a little smile and slipped out of the room to the kitchen. From there, he made his way through to the formal dining room and up the stairs just around the corner to the left. A comforter was removed from a hallway closet and he sneaked downstairs back to her sleeping form. He was careful not to wake her as he draped the thick fabric over her, and he was rewarded with a complacent sigh one makes when falling deeper into blissful unconsciousness.

On his way out of the living room, Seifer glanced back to her to double-check that she had everything she would need until morning. He hoped she would rest well, and that dawn would bring him an opportunity to get to know her better. She was definitely different. Many others who had so desperately attempted to woo him and win his heart had come up empty. She had ignited his interest in trying to avoid it.

A soft chuckle echoed in his chest as he exited the room and headed for his bedroom. For the first time in a long while, he was looking forward to the morning.


	5. Insecurities

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

A/N: This came unexpectedly in bursting sequence. The ending was complicated for me to write out so I hope it makes sense and is relatable to people.

* * *

For three years she had woken up to the off-white and water-stained apartment ceiling. One pathetic stream of light would infiltrate the room through the ragged, checkered sheets meant to pass for curtains. Her phone would ring incessantly with its alarm feature she would set the night before. The sound would normally irritate her enough to lose the comfort of warmth underneath the covers, and she would roll out of bed and onto her feet. From there, her normal routine was to feel her way to the door and make her way around the corner to her cramped bathroom so she could freshen herself up the best she could for work.

When Olette peeled her eyes open and yawned, she almost repeated that very series of events. She shrugged the comforter off of her shoulders and nudged the rest of it off of her with her foot. It seemed odd that she was still wearing her sneakers, but she attributed it to fatigue and guessed she had been too tired to remember to heel them off. She stretched and barely held in a yawn. There was no time to be overly tired; she needed to get to the bathroom so she could clean up and walk the six blocks to her job.

She rolled to the side off of the couch and landed on the floor with a startled squeak. Unaccustomed to sleeping up and off of the floor, the brunette suddenly realized that something was different. Belatedly, she noted the absence of the pesky alarm. The comforter was too warm and soft to be hers. The floor was too smooth to belong in her apartment. Her eyes flew open and she reflexively squinted at the flood of light swimming around in the room.

Olette felt her senses assaulted by fresh air, endless light, a large room, and the faint sound of a person humming. This was definitely not her house. Her mind brought to her attention that she had agreed to stay the night at Seifer's. She flushed when she recalled how terrible of a guest she had been more than once, even after she had begged not to be alone. That thought made her frown. There was no way she would allow herself to be a burden by becoming overly dependent; she was her own person and needed to stand on her own. Last night was merely an exception.

She must have fallen asleep on the sofa after dinner, Olette reasoned. She picked herself off of the floor and consciously neglected to massage the offended area on her posterior in case anyone might have seen it. Out of courtesy, she folded the comforter neatly and placed it on the cushion of the loveseat. Then she noticed a mirror near the door and shuffled over to it while she yawned into the back of her hand.

Her hair was horrifically out of place, the curls mashed together and strands defiantly standing loose on top of her head. Her eyes had signs of swelling, though it was not too obvious. The brunette smoothed her hair down and tenderly pressed at her eyes, wishing that somehow her fingers would cause the puffiness to disappear. Nothing changed. She pressed her lips together and found they needed lip balm soon or they would become too dry and would crack. She sorely wanted to shower and change into clean clothes, suddenly noticing an abundance of wrinkles spread all over her clothing. She needed to find Seifer so he could take her home before she was late to work.

The phone belligerently rang at her. Olette stepped to it with haste and felt her face fall when she read the caller information. Her eyes frantically searched the room for a clock and the impassive face of one located above the door read ten past nine. A huff of disbelief forced its way out of her mouth and she answered the call just before her answering machine took over.

"Hello?"

"Olette?" She cringed at the sound of the drawling woman's voice.

"Yes, this is she."

"Is there any reason why you're not in yet?"

"Yes, there is." There was a significant pause as the female on the other line was clearly waiting for further detail.

The brunette bit her lip nervously and struggled to think of some sort of reasonable explanation that did not involve anything shameful. It would be pitiful to say that she had spent the previous night wailing and beating on an acquaintance from her childhood and had, in the end, chosen to stay at his house because she was terrified of being mugged or raped in her apartment; or that she had exhausted herself because of self-pity, confusion, anger, and a myriad of other emotional and psychological issues stemmed from pent up frustration and discontentment at the choices made in her life.

"Well, Olette?" Time was running out and she had no time to make up a story. She blurted out the truth.

"I slept in."

"You… slept in."

"Yes."

"Did you not set your alarm?"

"No, I did not."

"And, may I ask, why not?"

"I was too busy."

It might have been the wrong thing to say. The silence following was terribly long and thick. Olette stared at her reflection in the mirror and adjusted a stray curl. She shifted her weight from one foot to another. Her hand without the phone glided along the back of the loveseat. She checked the time again – 9:12. The second hand ticked audibly in the room, the sound of humming now missing. A bird's shadow darted across the windows. The call of the Siamese sounded in the kitchen, followed by a clatter of dishes.

"Hello?" No response. She tried again. "Hello? Mrs. Walwood?"

"Miss Olette." The tone was clipped and direct. She flinched.

"Yes?"

"Would you explain to me why, exactly, you were too _busy_ to set your alarm in order to come to a job you seemed to so desperately need?" The voice was condescending, impatient, and loaded with oncoming tides of anger. She jawed quietly at the phone, wracking her mind for some sort of something that would get her out of this mess and allow her to keep her job. She needed the money! Her rent was due at the end of this week and she needed groceries! She stammered into the phone.

"I, well, I – I was busy because I was, um," she was _what_? She knew what she was doing, but she did not want her employer to know it! It was pathetic and humiliating by all accounts. There was no way she was going to tell her – there had to be a better answer.

"I was busy because I forgot." Another pause.

"You were busy because you… forgot."

"No."

"No?"

"No."

"Then what?"

"I meant that I forgot because I was busy."

"Mmhmm." The sound of lips smacking apart in disapproval. "Okay. Well, Olette, I think –" _Your thoughts don't count when I have to pay my rent!_ She thought in terror. Panic stole her control from her.

"You can't fire me, please! It was an accident, and it won't happen again. I really didn't expect it to happen, believe me!"

"Olette, you –"

"I just – I was out last night with someone and some things happened, and this guy came out of nowhere off of the streets and he wasn't leaving even though I told him I wasn't interested – you know, one of _those_ people – and so I wanted to go home, but when we got home, I realized I didn't want to be home alone so I asked to come over to his place, and I was a jerk and things got out of hand, and I just – I – we – we had dinner and I must have passed out after that. When I got up this morning I thought I was at home and I was going to get ready for work, I swear! I want to come in – I need this job, _please_! You can't fire me!"

Her breathing threatened to tip over into a state of hyperventilation. Another span without words prevailed on the phone. She bit her lip in careless repetition and stared down at the ground. Her hand curled into a fist around the phone and it shook against her cheek. This woman could not fire her. She could not. Her thoughts avalanched.

_She will not fire me. She will not fire me. She can't. She won't. There's no way she'll fire me. I need the money too badly. Why would she fire me over one discrepancy? That would border discrimination or something – there has to be some reason that she'll give me one pass. One chance is all I need. I'll never forget my alarm again. Even if I get married and have children and acquire some sort of handicap and go well into my old age, I'll never forget my alarm again. I need this paycheck. I don't have anywhere else to go. My other job won't cut it on its own. She has to keep me. I don't even have a vehicle; if I get fired, I have to walk all over between towns on foot. I'll have to waste time on the tram. I can't do that today. I'm too tired. She has to let me come in and do my hours today. She can't fire me. She can't fire me. She will not fire me. She-_

"Olette – "

"Yes!"

"I'll tell you what." Olette sucked in a breath of suspense.

"Why don't you take the day off for now, and I'll call you when you need to come back in."

"But I –"

"Take the day off, Olette. I'm not going to lay you off right this minute. I have another call to make with the head boss and we'll see what he says. It's up to him. For now, get some rest. It sounds like you need it." She blew out the air in marginal relief. It was a compromised result, but she would have to take what she could get.

"Thank you."

"Don't thank me."

The call ended abruptly and her phone dutifully informed her that she had been on the phone for eight minutes and fourty-nine seconds. She eased herself down onto the folded comforter and stared at the device. It was tempting to fling it into the wall or hurl it down at the floor with the intent of crushing it, but the blame rested on no one else but her. It was her fault that she had forgotten the alarm, and her employer was only fulfilling her own set of responsibilities. Jobs were touchy things right now; as a citizen of lower-class means, there was little point in being fussy over it. It was something like "Beggars can't be choosers."

The Siamese strolled into view from the kitchen, tongue sliding along its gums from side to side. Its eyes met hers with a cool stare, and it held its gaze for a moment before it padded out of sight behind her. She suspected they were not yet on friendly terms.

There was no point in sitting around for the rest of the morning. Olette pushed herself off of the seat and willed herself to explore the rest of the house in search of Seifer. She owed him a great deal already and still had one more favor to ask: she needed to get home. She had meant to restock her pantry today and, since she had the rest of the day off, she had ample time to do so. Maybe she could look around for a job with better pay in the meantime in case Mrs. Walwood's conversation with the head manager did not turn out too splendidly.

Several steps brought her into the kitchen, the space considerably larger than what she had seen last night. In addition to the stove and small counter space beside it, there was further countertop that spread to the right, cabinets both beneath and above it with glass door framed in glossy, dark wood. The small table with three chairs turned out to be a small table with four chairs, the set allowing just enough space in front of the refrigerator for the door to be swung open, and on top was a box of breakfast bars next to a cleaned out tin of what was once cat food. The appliances were the new stainless steel type, though the furniture looked as if it had weathered many years. The floor was the same midnight marble and it stretched out into the next room, the door on the other end of the kitchen past everything.

The peculiar noise of humming touched her ears again as Olette stepped out of the kitchen and into a formal dining area. A long table of glass reached to the other end of the room and chairs lined each side. She avoided counting how many the table could seat. The space gripped her with a feeling of awkwardness, the setting suggesting that she was not well-off enough to be seated in such a place. It was a room that reminded her of the extremely wealthy holding stiffly conducted meetings over exquisitely prepared food, the sort of atmosphere where one did not slouch, speak too loudly, sneeze, mention anything politically incorrect, use the wrong fork, or even set the napkin in the wrong place. The thought was distasteful and, upon seeing the stairs to her left, she promptly excused herself from the room by that exit.

With each step she gained on the way up, the brunette found that the distant noise had cleared out some and had become plainly masculine. By the time she had reached the top of the stairs and entered into the hallway, she could make out most of the melody and found the song to be strangely familiar, though she could not place a title or singer to it. It was, altogether, a pleasing tune, though a bit too jazzy for her tastes.

Light escaped through three doors to her left and illuminated the four doors to her right. Contrary to her expectations of a richly furnished house, none of those doors was shut to prevent nosy guests from snooping around. Each door was swung inside, inviting her to take a peek. Although she was here to ask her host for a ride back to her apartment and though she was sure he was somewhere in one of these rooms, she was unsure of which one it was – so a little peek would not hurt, she decided.

To her surprise, the majority of the rooms were well-furnished but empty guest rooms. The first pair of doors on both sides proved to contain rooms, each having a varied shade of color with different photographs framed on the walls to match, but there was no sign of any person inhabiting those rooms. Warm orange, cool blue, sweet pink, soft lavender – they all were tastefully applied on sheets, drapes, walls, rugs; but frames and furniture were all the black polished wood, and though the floor was no longer marble it was still dark. The last room on the left was a calming sage and across from it was the third room on the right which she discovered to be a bathroom. An unusual arrangement of grays, accented by porcelain white or satin blacks, streaked across in the form of tiles in the guest restroom; and it was impossible for her not to notice that the room boastfully displayed a rather ornate and peacock-blue-green wall of tiles and carvings to separate a section for the standing shower.

Whatever the final room on the right might have been was beyond her. The brunette had no time to look into it because the blond came out of it sporting a white college sweatshirt with tan slacks, and a baby pink apron with white frilly hems tied around the front of him. He was momentarily oblivious to her, a canister of furniture polish and a rag in hand, song reverberating in his throat, the music filtered into his ears through ear buds. His eyes met hers as he turned into the hallway and he saw her standing there, hands clasped together, giving him a bewildered stare. Seifer pulled the ear buds from his head and stuffed them into a side pocket, now divulging her with his full attention.

"Morning, Olette."

She was able to give him a nod of acknowledgement, suddenly at a loss of words. Olette had intended to find him and ask for a ride back to her apartment. Now, her throat constricted inexplicably and it took great effort to swallow. There was an appraising look on the blond's face that made her restless. Fingers threading through each other, she shifted her weight and stared past him, determined that if she avoided eye contact – or ignored his stare altogether – that she would be capable of smoothly forming her request.

"I need a ride home," she managed, noting a mirror on a closet door behind him. Though one of his shoulders slanted in front of the image, she could still see the wearied gaze of discomfort in the reflection of one of her eyes. Seifer seemed to notice the mild distress it just as she did.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, Seifer. I just need to get home now."

Something flickered across his face and Olette caught it before he masked it. It had resembled something akin to pain, disappointment, or anger, but she could deduce no reason for any of the three emotions. Seifer Almasy was not known for weakness or public displays of feelings, either; if she had seen something, it was better to keep it to herself.

"I'll take you back," he agreed finally. The polish and cloth were placed on the floor near the mirror, and the bedroom door was shut behind him. There was a subtle change in his body language, she found, as he proceeded to escort her down the stairway to the living room. While he had been talkative and entertaining last night, he was no longer as conversational, even refraining from small talk. He did not ask her what she thought of dinner, he did not check to see how she had slept, and he voiced no pleas for her to join him for breakfast. The blond did not even bother to attempt to spend more time with her before he took her to her apartment. As it was not a date, there was no, "I enjoyed this; I hope we get to do this again," or anything of the sort. Real life was decidedly unromantic, she decided, as he let her gather her things and then led her to the Porsche.

Olette gave the flowers a wistful stare while she waited for Seifer to lock up. In the morning light, they were just as beautiful as when she had seen them by moonlight. Had her landlord allowed it, she might have taken up gardening. If her income had been sufficient she would have sought out a pet for companionship. Had her bravery not been lacking, she would have phoned Pence more often. She might have had more friends – more of a social life – if she had not isolated herself in college.

She had foolishly passed by so many chances that life had occasionally offered to her. Now, she was about to reject another opportunity at socializing and enjoying herself. Once he would generously drive her to the apartment, she was going to politely thank Seifer and refute any more attempts at contact with her; but what type of thanks was it to shut someone out of your life when they had shown undeserving kindness? He knew that she could offer nothing in return besides company, and though she felt obligated to return his generosity somehow she doubted that mere interaction with her would be enough.

Regrets concerning her failures and resentment in regard to her perceived inabilities both weighed Olette down. It was noticed too easily by Seifer as he returned to his vehicle and slipped into the driver's seat, but he did not comment. When their seatbelts were properly fastened, he inserted the key and turned the ignition. In a low rumble, the car became alive, and he steered it into the street.

He already knew the way to Olette's apartment; he had been there only some hours ago. His sense of direction had always benefitted him and Seifer could not recall the last time he had been lost before last night. Yesterday, he had been confident and secure in his standing with both people and his general life. He had seen her after the graduation ceremony, consistently aloof and so quiet. There had been no one with her; she had always been peculiar in her social habits since they entered college, and her mannerisms had seemed to repulse most people. He had never been most people. What was different ordinarily caused fear and distance with the average man; for Seifer Almasy, what was different aroused his curiosity and attracted him.

She had turned out to be unpredictable. An untypical woman, Olette had scorned every attempt he made to be a gentleman. It was plain to him the more he spoke to her that her issue was more than a wounded pride or mere self-consciousness. Alone, frustrated, and worn out with life and society as a whole, the brunette had allowed him to take her to dinner with a vague sense of hope. The meal had been abandoned as she had exploded, and he had almost quit on her; it was then he had truly begun to feel unsure of what course of action to take, of what was acceptable to discuss and what was forbidden, and of what she expected. It made no sense to him that she would ride with him to a night out to dinner if she would detest every moment of it; there must have been something that had attracted her to it. Eventually she had returned only because she was obviously shaken by undesirable advances from some stranger.

Her misconceptions of herself seemed to have been engraved, and whenever she seemed unsure of anything she would fall back on those delusions. Whenever she seemed to have been confronted about anything, she either lashed out or crumbled, both of which she had done last night. It was like there was a wall she had carefully maintained for years to prevent outsiders from discovering some vulnerability or insecurity, and she guarded it armed to the teeth. As long as he did not try to breach that unseen defense, she was relatively pleasant; but it was impossible to guess the invisible limits she had placed on him, and it was almost unfair for her to assume that he would respect what she would not explain and what he therefore could not understand.

Now, this morning she had unexpectedly appeared in the hallway upstairs, clearly looking for him but strangely speechless. The woman had seemed stricken with shame or discomfort. While he understood that one night was not enough for her to fully relax around him, she had not even been able to voice a reciprocal "Good morning" to him. Then she had wanted him to take her home, and his own demons had crawled out of hiding to lurk in the back of his mind. Doubts whispered that though her demeanor was different, she was the same within those walls; materialistic, vain, irrational, discontent, self-centered, spoiled – with those aspects she could never approach him for his own person over his wealth and successes. He refused to allow himself to believe it, but it haunted him persistently.

Insecurities were just a series of stepping stones leading down into an abyss of isolation. There was never turning back. One could only build over it with painstakingly laid stones of conscious trust and continue forward. In the end, it came down to whether or not someone thought it was worth the effort of an emotional renovation.

He eased the Porsche to a smooth halt by the sidewalk. The blond wanted to express the enjoyment he had received from her company last night, but he was too slow. Olette muttered something undecipherable and let herself out onto the asphalt. He would have offered to carry her duffel bag up the stairs for her but she beat him, already taking the liberty of heaving it out of the back seat. The brunette shut both doors with resonating slams and hurried into the building without even a glance back.

Seifer curled his lips back between his teeth and stared after where she had last been. He was distantly aware of an occasional stare from a passerby and eventually shifted the gears of his vehicle. For some time, he sat there, car parked on the side of the road, gazing far beyond the people that strolled by him on the street. After a while, he rested his head back against his seat and made eye contact with himself in the rear view mirror. He wanted to smash the reflection there with his fist, to go after her and unleash his frustration conceived as a result of her sullen behavior, to demand why she was so impossible and incomprehensible. What had happened to the beaming ray of sunshine that had been the Olette in their childhood? Where had she gone? She had hidden herself deeper than a dingy apartment room, and he had no idea where to begin to search; Seifer was really unsure of why he wanted to look at all.

He gave one last fleeting glance toward the entrance of the apartment building. Impulse suggested that he barge in there, storm up the steps, and sort this all out with her even if he had to slam down the door; but reason chided him and convinced him that he needed to give them both space, and that he needed some time to think.

Seifer released an exasperated sigh, set the Porsche in drive, and pulled out into the street. With a sense of anxiety and wonder, the brunette watched him leave from the hallway window, unable to even guess why he had stayed there so long.


End file.
